


Rookie

by Laylah



Category: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 18:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their ID cards get them in the roof entrance -- Gabranth is starting to wonder if there's anywhere a Turk ID won't get him -- and into the patients' wing on the top floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rookie

Gabranth is a little queasy by the time they land -- ordinary Solidor grunts, like he was before the Plate fell, don't ride in helicopters very often. And Drace flies the thing like she's been doing it for years, with an easy hand on the stick. The guys in his old squad would probably have something crude to say about that. Then Drace'd probably punch them into next week.

Or maybe not. She's hard to get a read on. Probably comes with the territory, being a Turk.

Drace pockets the keys, and pops the door. "Come on," she says.

The hospital's the nicest Solidor can afford, and that's saying something. It's above-Plate, high enough up off the base that from the high levels you can see all the way to the wasteland, past the edges of the city. Not bad, if you have to be stuck in a hospital in the first place.

Their ID cards get them in the roof entrance -- Gabranth is starting to wonder if there's anywhere a Turk ID _won't_ get him -- and into the patients' wing on the top floor. Turns out even the nicest hospital still smells like crap, like disinfectant and plastic and stale mako.

Drace doesn't knock at the door, just lets herself in. Bergan's sitting up in bed, watching the room's built-in TV. He looks weird out of his blue uniform suit.

"More bad news?" he says when they walk in.

"You heard about the old man," Drace says.

"It's all over the fucking news," Bergan says. "Was it really those AVALANCHE bastards?" He mutes the TV. "Tell me you brought my fucking cigarettes."

"No smoking in the hospital," Drace says, but she takes a pack out of her pocket and tosses it to him. "They were there," she goes on, "but they didn't kill him. Got the girl back, though. Ghis was pissed as hell."

"Heh." Bergan's mouth twists. "I bet." He lights a cigarette, takes a drag, and then his eyes narrow. "Who's your shadow?"

"I was getting to that," Drace says. "This is Gabranth. He's coming with me to see if we can catch up with them before they get too far out of the city."

"_What_?" Bergan snarls. "That motherfucker wants to replace me with a goddamn _rookie_?"

Drace doesn't even bat an eye, which Gabranth thinks might be the most badass thing he's seen her do yet. Bergan's fucking scary when he wants to be. "You're not _replaced_, partner. They don't give fancy rooms like this to _ex_-Turks." She tilts up the chart at the foot of Bergan's bed, and studies it for a minute. "But the doc says you're still pissing blood. No active duty for you."

"Tch," Began says. "It's barely pink anymore." Gabranth tries not to stare. He'd heard the Turks were bad news and all, but -- seriously? Pissing blood, and he wants to keep fighting? "Rookie."

"It's Gabranth," Gabranth says automatically.

"It's 'rookie' until you impress me," Bergan says. "Don't fuck up out there."

"I won't," Gabranth says. "What are they like in a fight?"

"Bad news." Bergan grins when he says it, blows smoke out through his teeth like a dragon. "Pretty serious, for a bunch of amateurs. The guy with the scar hits hardest, but the girl's fucking fast. Give you a run for the money, partner."

Drace snorts. "We'll see."

"Is it true one of them was in SOLDIER?" Gabranth asks. He's heard one of them said so to President Solidor, when they blew the Number 1 Reactor.

"Nah, that's bullshit," Bergan says. He looks at Drace. "Isn't it?"

"I checked the files," Drace says. "There's never been a 'Balthier' in SOLDIER, definitely not First Class. His picture didn't match, either, from the security footage."

"Thought not." Bergan shakes his head. "Some hotshot with a gun that's too fancy for him, that's all. A real SOLDIER First Class would wipe the fucking floor with him."

Gabranth bites his tongue, doesn't point out that this hotshot laid Bergan up in the hospital for an extended vacation. It must show on his face, though, because Bergan points at him and says, "You shut the fuck up, rookie." Ash drops on the blanket. He doesn't seem to care.

"I didn't say a word," Gabranth says.

"It's a good habit," Bergan says. "Keep it up."

Gabranth isn't sure if he should be arguing, but Drace's PHS goes off before he can make up his mind for sure.

"Drace," she says when she answers. Her face goes blank and professional, enough that Gabranth realizes she looked amused by comparison just a minute ago. "Mm." It must be either Ghis or Vayne calling, or she wouldn't be paying so much attention. "Right." Gabranth isn't sure where to look. Bergan's ignoring him, all attention focused on killing his cigarette. The TV is the only other thing to pay attention to in here -- the sound's still off, but all the stuff on it is pretty familiar anyway. Solidor's been running variations on the same news bulletin since last night: the portraits of Gramis, the press conference Vayne gave, looking serious and dedicated, with Ghis in the background behind him. It was a good speech, all this stuff about not surrendering to despair, about not letting the determination of a few terrorists keep the people of Midgar from the bright future they'd worked for. After that -- yup, still the same pattern, cycling to the grainy photos of the AVALANCHE members they caught on security video during the break-in at the Tower. Gabranth looks away when they get to the guy with the scar. He looks too similar, too familiar. But that's crazy, right? He couldn't be --

"All right," Drace says, hanging up. "Ghis is done with his meeting. Sounds like Vayne's going to be a really different boss from the old man."

"Hey, that could be a good thing." Bergan stubs out his cigarette on the bedside table. "Maybe he'll get the company moving again. Expand."

Drace rolls her eyes. "Last time that got us Wutai," she says. Bergan opens his mouth, and she says, "Later. Right now me and the rookie have a job to do."

Bergan smirks. Gabranth wonders if it's a standing argument. "Later," Bergan says. He nods to Gabranth. "Don't get yourself killed, asshole."

"Thanks," Gabranth hazards. "Feel better."

Bergan has a nasty laugh, harsh like he's spent too much time under the Plate, and it follows them into the hall. "Okay," Drace says. "You got your gun?"

He knows he does, still hasn't gotten used to the weight of it and feels it against his ribs constantly, but Gabranth reaches under his jacket to check anyway. The grip is solid under his fingers, rough-textured. "Yeah."

"Good." Drace pulls a pair of mirrored sunglasses out of her jacket and slides them on. "Let's go."


End file.
